I snort. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well.’ His eyes dance across my face. ‘You know. You’ve been through a lot, and some would say you’ve handled it better than most. A lot of people who face that kind of trauma end up becoming a dickhead themselves or trying to run away from it forever. Sounds like you’ve faced it head on and dealt with it as best you can.’
I blush at the observation. ‘I don’t know. I probably could have handled it all better. I mean, obviously Hennie and my family held my hand through it all. But…’ I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. ‘Honestly, music was such a lifeline. When I found Queen Ego and the escapism that came with it, that changed everything for me. I can’t really explain it.’
He hesitates, leaving space for me to talk more.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I feel like I’ve done a bit of trauma dumping on you today.’
He shrugs a shoulder. ‘I consented.’
I take a gulp of my drink, its iciness streaming down the centre of me.
‘So thiswould be your chance to tell them what their music really means to you? If we won?’
I feel my heart expand at the very idea of it. ‘Yeah, I suppose. I don’t know if I’d manage it very well, but it would be nice to at least give it a go. And I feel like artists are always happy to find out someone’s connected with their work in a significant way, right?’
He nods. ‘Yeah, I’d think so.’
As he tilts his head back to drain the rest of his beer, I can’t resist marvelling at how the warm festival glow from below us hits the strong curve of his jaw.
‘Fucking hell, maybe Ishouldhave just let you have it,’ he says quietly, laying his empty cup on the grass. ‘You know I would have if it weren’t for my brother.’
I try shooting him my coolest glare. ‘I know. You don’t need to justify your allegiance to your brother over me.’
He turns away, his eyes unreadable. I frown.
‘What?’ I ask more seriously.
For a second, I wonder if he’s considering giving it up.
‘I don’t know. I was thinking.’ He pauses before continuing, his voice rough and uneven. ‘You’re just… generous in the way you love things. It’s a great trait to have.’
The colour in my cheeks deepens and I frown into my drink, noticing how the bubbles float to the top and settle around the ice cubes before dispersing.
‘Artists are lucky to have fans like you,’ he says, his voice evening out. ‘It must be a pretty remarkable thing, to be loved by someone like you. You know, someone who loves things so passionately. And unapologetically.’
My body straightens and I search his face for some trace of humour or mockery, but I can’t find any there. The wind plays with his dark locks as he looks calmly at the clouds above us, tapping the drumstick against his knee in a steady rhythm.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask him, my voice quiet.
‘You just don’t love things by halves, is all I mean,’ he says. ‘It’s a beautiful quality to possess, you know? Kind of a rare trait to have a heart so big. If anything, it just shows how much love you have to give.’
He tosses the drumstick from one palm to the other in a thoughtless pattern before turning to me with a soft smile.
I feel a smile tug on my lips in response before I can stop it.
Nobody has ever framed things that way before; that the particular kind of love I have for Queen Ego is something to be proud of, even celebrated, rather than pitied or mocked.
For a second, I almost feel like I’m naked – like a part of my soul has been bared and exposed. My body buzzes with the excitement, mortification and adrenaline that comes with feeling so wholly seen.
The reality that Elliot is now fully aware of my somewhat troubled past and psyche and how I’ve battled it all is a relief, but also deeply unsettling. Under any other circumstances, I would have cherished the moment. That sensation of feeling so understood and known by someone I just met isn’t something I’ve ever experienced, but I’m also keenly aware of the fact that we’re still competing for something and in reality… I don’t know if Elliot and I are even friends. Is it normal to be obsessed with the way your newfound “friend” smells like an alluring forest? And the shape of his hands?
And the way I will now think about the way he kisses forever?
It feels like we’re friends, but I’ve only known him for a day. And whenever we laugh together it feels like we could be, but then I’m reminded that I might never see him again after this weekend.
The idea that we have such a limited amount of time left together tears at my gut.
